Small Things
by Margaret Moony
Summary: It's not about being able to seeing the large things; it's about seeing the small ones. HGSS


**Small Things**

**Disclaimer: **Standard and kudos to JK Rowling for letting me maul her creations.

**Summery: **It's not about being able to seeing the large things; it's about seeing the small ones. HG/SS

Divination. It's a strange and mystic art that has many different meanings for all that is brushes against in its sliding way.

For many it's the art the see into the great and terrible future. To sit and watch, as mighty nations rise among time's sands. Then watch as the nations slide, bare bones ravaged by power, into time's uncaring oceans. It's an art that can see all even before destruction's war drums began to pound.

To these, divination is a sacred prayer. It whispered reverently into the hot darkness. It is holy, a thing to be worshipped.

For others, divination is a powerless plaything. A toy for children's idle amusement and the simple minded entertainment. When the user is done it can be thrown safely onto the shelf. Left to gather dust.

To these divination is less then nothing. All it gives is fairy dust that disappears by dawn. It is a passing fancy that turns into a joke.

For those of Sybil Trelawney's breed divination is a strange blend of toy and holy relic. The "inner eye" holds the power not the seer. The tools are given control over those who seek the answers.

To these divination is riddled with signs and omens. The tools are powerful. Inside them are easy powers ripe for the taking.

These are lies and half-truths.

Honestly, what can pieces of cardboard and murky glass tell you? They do not live. They hold no power. With real power it is not what you use but _how_ you use it. For a glimmer of a second if you believe hard enough you can convince even a stick itself that it is indeed a sword.

Nor is divination a parlor trick to be used by the unknowing and giddy. The Art is not a dog to be called sharply to heel. When it goes astray it does not simply widdle on the carpet. It is a snake, twisty, just waiting for the time you will trip up and it can sink poisonous fangs deep into your flesh.

While divination can show you the wonders of the future it only show you what _might be. _The universe being what it is has a delightful way of spinning off course. Twirling and whirling, knocking futures off course until are all in a messy pile. Fate is a practical joker who moonlights as a gambler. If you place your survival on a certain future you are more likely to lose it.

In truth Divination is neither a toy nor a holy thing. It simply is. It is a thing that is as mundane as doing your wash up. As it is your are more likely to see the sudden falling of your teacup and it's shattering onto the carpet then who would be the next conquering hero.

It is an eternal blessing and curse. For all it's mystical properties you have a high chance of seeing the mundane and that itself is temperamental. One day it's there a shadowy presence lurking in the back of your skull then it's gone.

It must be remembered that through out the course of history, that little events only culminated up to the larger ones. The shattering of your crockery very well could lead to your untimely death.

Professor Sybil Trelawney, divination teacher and self proclaimed seeress possessed a certain quality that pissed Miss. Hermione Granger off.

Just thinking of it gave Hermione a delightful shiver up and down her spine. She'd spent her entire life willing trapped in the cage of self imposed Good Girlness. Even the minor thing of thinking a swear, especially in relation to a teacher, was stretching of her wings.

Instead of speaking her discontentment in such a verbal way she sat, fidgeting in her seat. Watching the class with silted eyes and letting the odorous incense roll over her leaving behind a miserable sickness in her. Seething like a dormant volcano as the happy natives in the village underneath went about their ways.

Here was this woman, this nothing really, who didn't even know the very nature of divination and she taught yet everyday she stood at the front of the class and opened her mouth and nonsense just poured out like milk and honey. And the class just sat there with gapping mouths and wide eyes letting her go about her way. It was unconceivable.

Only it was very much conceivable. For here Professor Trelawney taught just as she did every day.

All of these left Hermione feeling that even though she was _far _to grounded to ever experience a moment of true divination, she thought this with a touch of smugness, and she could teach this class better then _her_.

It turned out to be a bad move in the grand plan of it all, to think that. Fate holds a certain hatred of those that are ever so sure and smug close to his heart. For those that are safe in their belief of their footing are the easiest to trip and the fastest to fall.

It felt like she'd gotten one of those heavy ice cream headaches. One of the ones were there isn't even a being of a tingle of pain before it hits your brain. Fast heavy and very painful. Unlike an ice cream headache, this pain seemed to draw her into its sharp darkness.

She knew that her body was sitting there, solid and heavy, in one of Professor Trelawney ridiculous chairs. Yet it didn't feel that way. It was as if she'd gone traveling and left the most important baggage behind, her own body. Traveling again, now the feeling of being draw faster and faster into the sharp darkness, swirling never knowing where she'd land. Part of her mind was happy to exist forever in this interesting yet painful plane. The rest of her seems to wiggle, wanting to stop, to see those shimmery colors zooming passed at a slower speed.

Then the darkness dropped from under her. Her world suddenly had color to it again. Only she wasn't back in the divination class. Instead of sitting upright in that man-eating chair she was lying down and there was pressure like something heavy was lying across the length of her body. And then her head was pulled sharply down from it's view of the ceiling (cream white with a crack, only later did she figure out why this sight was so suprising.) into sharp black eyes' who owner told her in a dry voice, "I'll have you remember that you were the one to ask for this." Which was followed by pain, sharp burning pain.

Then she was tripping forward again, past half formed images that barreled past, of drying flower petals, ripped lace, and for some reason, socks. Black socks.

Until she landed-

Pain again. This time it was in her belly, coming in waves instead of the deep persistent pain of last time. It felt as if pressure was being built up in her body and she couldn't get rid of it. In her ear through the pain she could hear a deep voice. For some reason the voice brought into her mind the connection between wolfsbane and monkshood. Before she could concentrate on the voice through the veil of pain on that thought she was off again.

She was dancing, tripping through visions of spilt oatmeal, shaved cats (By this time she was so numb to the whole process that all this could warrant was a 'poor Crookshanks.'), and declarations of love in the laundry room of all places.

To rest again-

On snow. Where ever see was it was cold. She stood there, watching the wet snowflakes make their lazy descent onto the ground as off in the distance what looked like to be two balls of waddling clothing chased each other around and across a snowy field. She felt the hands come to rest on her hips (Hips that she had to acknowledge were fuller and softer then her own bony girl hips.) She felt the hands tighten as she was spun around to face…

Someone much taller then her. All she could see was black robes that she fought the urge to bury her faces in to them and smell.

Just as soon as she had that thought, it was back into the darkness again to fall and fall back into her own familiar body, finally.

She could blame the experience on the time-turner. She could blame the experience on overwork and fatigue. Or she could accept it. That is how was going to be, or could be.

Hermione drummed her fingers against the side of the table, watched Ron snort in his sleep and thought.

A future with a man, who at this moment currently hated her and all she represented to him. No one would ever have to know that she saw this. She could ignore those visions, those reverse memories and continue through her life and avoid Snape like the plague. It would be something very easy. No close dealing, just keep a safe emotional distance from Severus Snape.

And while Trelawney drone on in the front of the classroom about the inner eye Hermione Granger tipped her head back and smiled. Where would be the fun if her life were easy?

The next time she was in Potions class Professor Snape caught her gaze she gave him a wide almost predatory grin. And as his sneer disappeared into wide eyed shock, in the back of her mind's eye she saw a pale long fingered hand give a smaller dark handed one a teacup.

Fin.

Author's Note: I wrote this story a long, long, long time ago. It was until recently that I pulled it out of cold storage and actual did something to it. I hope you enjoyed it. In other news, all forms of feedback are accepted and encouraged. Thank You.


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